


No Righteous Path

by electricblueninja



Series: The Five Love Languages [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Supportive Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27335377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricblueninja/pseuds/electricblueninja
Summary: Castiel considers the possible meanings of 'us' to Dean.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: The Five Love Languages [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988281
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	No Righteous Path

Dean's voice rings out in my head, clear as the night sky in the countryside:

_For the love of God, Cas, don't ask about us._

I think he must have forgotten that 'for the love of God' indicates prayer, and that saying my name, even in his mind, directs that prayer to me. So I wasn't listening to him on purpose. I wasn't eavesdropping. I learned from what happened all those years ago: I never spy on the Winchesters now, not ever. But I can still hear Dean if he speaks to me directly. Even if I don't want to listen.

I bite down on my instinct to reply aloud. It would embarrass him, which I have no desire to do. 

But I bear witness to more than just Dean's prayer. Because we are in close proximity, I also feel an echo of what he feels. And he is feeling very uncomfortable. It is not because of me. It is because of a shapeless, nameless thing he carries within himself, and the negative emotions he feels towards it are staggering. Human emotions come from their souls. They filter through human bodies before they reach us, and so they should be diluted. Yet when they reach me, Dean’s emotions are still of an almost unbearable intensity.

He is fighting a part of himself, a part that he hates and fears, and he is losing, which he also hates and fears.

Still, I am preoccupied by my own internal conflict.

Dean’s plea has unlocked the cage where I keep my own tormentors: Shame and Doubt, and, smallest and most pathetic, but still worst of them all, Hope.

Why?

Why did he pray that I not ask 'about us'?

What is 'us' to him?

There is a strange lump in my throat and a tight feeling in my vessel's stomach. Both sensations linger unpleasantly as I consider the possibilities.

Perhaps Dean already knows how I feel, but does not reciprocate those feelings. 

In that case, he may not want me to ask about us because he does not want to hurt me. Dean is a fascinating specimen of humanity. Despite the unrelenting violence he either experiences or perpetrates almost constantly, he is terrified of certain types of conflict. Specifically, he fears hurting or disappointing those he cares for. And he _does_ care for me. Just probably not in the way that I care for him.

But there are other possibilities, too. 

Perhaps he already knows what I feel for him, but also knows that what is said cannot be unsaid. So perhaps the reason that he does not want me to ask about _us_ is that he does not want to hear it. Perhaps what I feel disgusts him, and if I give voice to it, our friendship will have to end. And perhaps he does not want that to happen. 

There is also a chance that he does _not_ know how I feel. Perhaps he simply does not know how to answer if I ask what our friendship means, so he would rather avoid the question. He is a brave man, but humans, angels, demons and monsters are all the same: each and every one of us has something that turns us into a coward.

And, finally, there is a shadow of a possibility that maybe, just _maybe_ , Dean cares for me too. In a way that is the same or similar to the way that I care for him. 

Maybe the thing inside him that he keeps locked up in his darkness, where he doesn't have to see it--the thing he is fighting with every atom of his being--maybe that _is_ what he feels about our friendship. Maybe he just does not know how to acknowledge or accept it, because it goes against everything he thought he knew about himself.

Can I dare to hope for that? 

_Do_ I hope for that? Because if that nameless horror _is_ how he feels about 'us', then I already know that it causes him fear and pain. And aside from the selfish part of me that wants more than it should from this one mortal in my charge, I do not want to cause him either of those things. I want to be everything _other_ than that to him. I want him to feel safe. I would give my life to protect him, and I have never known a pain worse than the pain of hurting him.

I comply with his wishes. I do not ask about 'us'. I tell him that I am just curious, because human societies are all so complex, and so different. I say that I agree: it must depend on the friend, and that humans are so remarkably unique in weaving their webs of relationships in the world. And, just to make the end of the conversation a little easier, I say that I've been watching a TV show _called_ Friends, and have been puzzled by how the relationships in it transition from friendship to romance.

Dean probably knows better, but he accepts my subterfuge.

I say that I am going to go and watch the next few episodes, and take my leave.

I will return Sam's book. It is of no use, because _my_ cowardice is that, though I can live and die for Dean Winchester, I cannot tell him what he means to me. 

"Sam?"

I knock and wait, book in hand. Sam's heavy footsteps draw near, and he opens the door wide.

"Cas? What's up? I thought you and Dean were talking."

I am puzzled by the statement, but I have no idea what the appropriate response would be, so I simply hold out the book.

"I just came to return this. I have read it several times now. It is extremely informative. Thank you."

"Thanks, Cas." He reaches out to take it, but then pauses, thumb and finger on a corner. "Hey...You know what, maybe you should just pass it straight on to Dean. I think he could use a few tips on how to...you know...be less of an asshole."

I draw my hand back from the book so suddenly that I surprise even myself. 

Sam briefly attempts to hand it back to me, but I have pulled my fingers into a fist at my side. 

"I can't do that," I say, more sharply than I mean to. 

There is a long silence as Sam eyes me, his expression quizzical. 

I am flushed with embarrassment, and I turn to walk away, but Sam stops me with a light touch on my shoulder.

"Cas...wait. Can I...ask you something?"

Slowly, I turn back to face him. 

There is an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach that travels up into my throat, like the feeling I sometimes get in the back of the Impala when it goes over a crest at an unsafely high speed. 

"Yes?"

It is small comfort that Sam looks every bit as uncomfortable as I feel. "Okay, look, you don't have to answer if you don't want to. And I don't...I don't mean anything by it, either way. I'm not judging. I just want to know."

"Know what?"

"Do you love my brother?"

Sometimes I resent the fact that Sam is so much more perceptive than his brother. 

"Of course I do," I counter. "I am an angel of the Lord. Or was, anyway. I love all of humanity. It's part of the job description."

He's not so easily thrown. Now that he's asked the question, he is not going to be deterred; I can see it in his eyes. 

"No, Cas. That's not what I meant. I'm asking if you're _in love_ with Dean."

I clear my throat. "I can't be the one to give him a book like this, Sam," I say, a humiliating crack in my voice. "I don't...I don't think he would be receptive to something like that. Not from me."

Like I said: some things make cowards of us all.

Sam looks down at the book, his expression contemplative. I watch his face, bracing myself for shock or condemnation, but there is none, and I sense no anger or animosity or even surprise in his thoughts. Eventually, he nods, and raises his eyes to look at me. His eyes are a lot like his brother's: his emotions flood out through them. And right now, he looks at me with nothing but kindness.

"Did you...want to come in and talk about it?"


End file.
